Page 48 of Miss Delightful
Isaiah tipped his hat and turned back the way he’d come, lest he be seen fraternizing with the housekeeper. She’d been admirably protective of her employer, not entirely vulnerable to flattery, and not entirely immune to it either. A productive sortie, and one that confirmed that Dorcas Delancey was both unencumbered with competition for her hand and careful of her reputation with the congregants.
All to the good. All very much to the good.
* * *
Though frigid temperaturesreturned to London, spring had come early to Dorcas’s heart. Her days were developing a pattern that included an early call on John—and on Alasdhair MacKay—and then a pleasant walk home with Mr. MacKay by way of the tea shop.
The joy of small indulgences—a cup of chocolate, a kiss to the cheek, an embrace that demanded nothing—had slipped from her grasp, or perhaps she’d pushed such joys away. Remorse was the thief of contentment. That Alasdhair should be the one to return those joys to her was unexpected and wonderful.
“If I were to bring John around to call at the vicarage, would your father object?” Alasdhair asked after demolishing his customary two-sandwich snack.
“Is it wise to take a child out into the elements at this time of year?”
He sat back. “You are avoiding the question, my dear. If I chose a milder day and bundled John up, he’d enjoy the outing. Timmens and Henderson would enjoy the respite even more. Mamas take their babies to market, to divine services, to the shop. The lad’s up on all fours now, and soon he’ll be crawling. The world awaits the pleasure of his exploration.”
Michael had had that sort of confidence as a young man, that sort of optimism. All the world had awaited the pleasure of his exploration, more’s the pity.
“I will ask Papa.” The conversation would be difficult.
Alasdhair patted her hand. “Family is the ultimate challenge. If I must begin my campaign by calling upon you without John, then I will start up the hill that way. Your father strikes me as a reasonable man of genuine convictions, and John should know his family.”
Convictions, yes, but did Papa also have the courage to acknowledge Melanie’s by-blow under the vicarage’s very roof?
Dorcas could only hope so. “Speaking of family, you’ve had no further word regarding Melanie’s disappearance?”
Alasdhair selected a piece of shortbread. He typically ate one and slipped another into his pocket and probably didn’t even realize he’d formed that habit.
“Nary a word. Goddard’s juvenile minions are listening at the dockside keyholes, and Powell’s former soldiers are on the alert, but if Melanie has decamped for Southwark or left London altogether, she might as well be a ghost.”
“I hope she’s a happy ghost, wherever she is.” Though how could she be when parted from her only child? “Perhaps before you bring John around, you should come to dinner at the vicarage.”
Alasdhair took Dorcas’s hand. “I know you love your papa, Dorcas. You must not fret that I’ll make an issue of the boy. He’s a mere baby. There is time for old wounds to heal and for memories of his mother’s scandal to fade. But he will never be more dear or lovable than he is now, and your father won’t live forever. If a lad cannot count on family, then who does he have in this life?”
“Fortunately, John has you.”
“And if something happens to me, my cousins will intervene on John’s behalf, but I want you to have the raising of him. I’ll be making an amendment to my will to that effect.”
Spring brought flowers, beautiful days, and sunshine. It also brought hay fever, flies, and mud. “I have never raised a child, never borne a child. For me to take over John’s upbringing… I pray it doesn’t come to that.”
“I intend to offer you marriage, Dorcas Delancey.” Alasdhair rubbed his thumb across her bare wrist. “Accommodate yourself to that notion right now. You can refuse me, put me through my paces, break my heart, or have your way with me before making up your mind, but my objective is to secure your hand in marriage.”
“You are quite clear on this objective of yours.” And Dorcas was all manner of pleased with his declaration—also unnerved. “We haven’t known each other long.”
“Most courtships in polite society are short, lest the happy couple be caught anticipating their vows once too often. I hope we do anticipate our vows, by the way. If you’d rather trot me out to all the church socials and tool around the park with me of an afternoon, I will cheerfully squire you about. I’m the considerate sort of lover, and you deserve to be lavishly doted upon.”
“You will cease making scandalous pronouncements in public, Mr. MacKay.” Scandalous, delightful pronouncements.
“I’m not making pronouncements, I’m making promises. Besides, the shop is all but empty, and nobody overheard me. I have a care for your dignity, Dorcas, as well as my own.”
Alasdhair used her name occasionally, just often enough that every time Dorcas heard him speak it, she felt the urge to preen.
“I’d best be getting home,” she said. “The grounds committee is meeting after luncheon, and I’m expected to take the minutes.”
“You’ll run the meeting, take on half the assignments, and make every committee member think their suggestion was the most brilliant offering of the day. Do you ever consider how much you could accomplish if you weren’t your father’s unpaid curate, sexton, verger, and deacon? How many more articles you could write, how many more prison schools you could start?”
Dorcas eased her hand from his grip. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do think about that. I want to write a series of pamphlets, about women and poverty. I want to write sketches for the newspapers, about the mendicants we dismiss as lazy and sly. I have ideas…”
And Alasdhair MacKay would listen to those ideas, refine them, and help her realize them. More than his kisses, more than his audacious courting plans, Dorcas was enthralled by his ability tosee her. To Alasdhair MacKay, she was not only the dutiful daughter and resident spinster at the vicarage, she was also a person in her own right, with a unique and valuable contribution to make.
